Nouveau Nocturne
by Phanatic
Summary: Slash Brian/Dexter The moon was calling for the brothers to feast, but Brian was hungry for a meal other than the usual. And I cannot believe that I wrote something like this.


The moon was gleaming outside, calling out to Demonic Daring Dexter. Could he come out to play?

No; no, not yet. The Need was growing, but was not yet urgent. I still had to verify the schedule of the next hunt. _La Lune_, our sweet game will have to wait.

I closed the blinds, hiding the sight but not deafening the call. The homicides, idle chatter with Masked Muppet Masuka, and flaring blushes from Camille had admittedly tired me a bit. The Meticulous Me would have to shower and then retire to the lair. I would need my sleep if I were to terrorize Miami once more tomorrow.

Once my filthied clothes were in the laundry basket and necessary accessories were in their fitting places, I was furiously scrubbing away at air pollutants on my skin in the shower.

I was in between suds when something quite important came to my attention. My brother was nearby.

Brian...

This "Knowing" didn't come as too much as a surprise to me; after all, I have hovered over Brian as he was sawing away on a call-girl and I was asleep in my bed a mile away. And I've left my apartment at unkind hours between tonight and tomorrow's dawn to follow my wise and dirty blood to his truck plus missing hooker head.

Yes; there was an odd connection between the murderous Irish twins, and this connection was now resounding somewhere within my apartment. Miles and miles to a few stalks' distance.

"_Dexter_."

My voice, but not my voice. I could sense – could see – him now, standing just outside of the shower: the me that wasn't me and a few inches taller. Pale and with a more muscular physique, standing awkwardly like an unsure but determined child.

Born in the same blood as I, with the same blood as I, and with the same Dark Passenger as I.

"_Brian_."

Although we could not see each other through the fabric shower curtain, we could both sense out Dark Passengers reaching out to each other, snickering in acknowledgement. I was still mindlessly scrubbing as I addressed my Bonded Brother.

"We had agreed that you would leave. The brave of Miami are still looking for you."

I heard and could practically see him chuckle as he replied, "And the _whole_ of it would be hunting for you if they knew of your own... honed craft."

I tensed. Was this a compliment or a threat? Tread carefully, Doe-eyed Dexter; your Big Brother Biney is here to reprimand.

"How the sheep would scatter before the mass..."

Brian let the words slip as his mind followed suit. Here we both were, running on idle.

Quite suddenly, Brian whipped back the flimsy shower curtain – Alas, modesty! I knew thee well! – and grabbed me roughly by the shoulders. His face looked frantically into mine.

"You haven't forgotten about me, have you?"

"Brian, what are - !"

"You won't forget me again, will you? And you won't abandon me again, will you?"

"We _both_ agreed that you – "

"Dexter, I'm the only one who can understand you, right? We _need_ each other, don't we? And the Others?"

His reference to out Dark Passengers.

"Brian, we agreed that we should stay apart."

"No; _you_ insisted!"

"But it's for the best!"

"_Nooo..._"

Here Brian whined and began to slightly shake me. Badly Broken Brian was in a frantic state. Swiftly, as to not startle Brian, I turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist. I then slid my arm around his shoulders and slowly guided the Frantic Frater out of the bathroom. This situation was a slight comedy in that the younger brother was having to chide and calm the elder.

Brian seemed to be lost in himself as I sat him down on the coverlet of my bed. I attempted to separate in order to at least procure a robe, but Brian was holding my arm as if his existence would not be complete without it. But perhaps it was meant to be this way: two brothers, connected in more blood than most, set side-by-side after so many years – too many years – without knowledge of our own well beings.

Brian wordlessly fell to the bed – submitted to gravity – and reclined listlessly on my apartment-provided bed. The situation proved to be awkward for myself: I, in only a towel, sitting on my bed while a brother, having been unknown for years, was pulling me down with him onto this stolen luxury. But, as Brian was as wordless as ever, I appeased to his request and submitted to the Law of Gravity as well.

Blankly Busted Brian and Darkly Divided Dexter, lying as a jumbled mess of fragments and pieces, fitting only to be a united disaster. The moon was seeping in through the blinds, but neither us nor the Passengers could be stirred from the overwhelming sense of peace – a calm in a rough and persistent storm – was fitting, and it seemed that not a single thing in the whole of Monstrous Miami could upset this in me.

But perhaps Brian had been roused to a different sense.

As we laid beside each other, Brian slung his arm over my abdomen and brought himself closer to rest his head in the crook of my neck – a gesture that Rita was annoyingly fond of.

Physical contact was such an awkward subject for me; I was accustomed to slicing and packaging flesh in order to sate my hunger, not shaking hands in amiable greeting. I was envious of hamsters that had plastic balls to roam around in; given the opportunity, I would live in a plastic bubble. Contact and connection with human beings was not something that a creature like myself was accustomed nor partial to.

But here was my brother, nuzzling and breathing heatedly onto my neck. Despite his years of institutionalized alienation, Brian seemed quite apt and able to express physical connection with myself.

I found myself envious... and enthralled.

This was not some random pat-on-the-back with a co-worker. This was not a high-five with the Meticulous Masuka. This was not an awkward embrace with the Passionate Rita. This was a gesture from my other half, craving connection, and I found myself unable to shy from it.

But then Brian began to treat this fraternal embrace as a sensual opening. His breath became determinedly faster and hotter as he began to trace his tongue and teeth over the sensitive flesh and I became anxious and intimidated. I began to pull away from his oral attention, but Brian held his arm fast around me and curled into my retreating figure.

"Brian, what are y-a-_ah_!"

His affections moved up to my ear, which effectively weirded me out. Why anyone would find romantic attention to ears – to build-up of cartilage and ear-related filth – appealing was beyond me.

"Brian, stop it!"

Ah, but stop, he did not. Brash Brian was boldly going where no man had gone before – intimate with Detrimental Dexter.

"What has gotten into you?"

Brian jerkily raised his head and stared at me with his feverish eyes. "Nothing that wasn't already there."

"What're you-"

"Enacting."

"Why-"

"Because you are the only one – my other half – and I _will_ have you. Now, shut up."

With that, Brian slammed his mouth onto mine, his tongue immediately thrusting into my mouth, mixing saliva – absolutely unsanitary – and probing my teeth and flesh.

My hands were then immediately pushing on his shoulders, trying to shove off the Feral Frater. At this time, our saliva was dripping out of our mouths – in my opinion, once again, disgusting – and Brian had more or less rolled on top of me. His hand seized the unraveling towel around my waist and tossed it haphazardly away.

And then, by golly, he grabbed my cock.

There were three things that were bothering me in this situation. The first was the most obvious; my brother was trying to rape me. The second lied with our Dark Passengers. I could practically _see_ the darkness _throbbing_ in Brian's eyes, and his Passenger was as aggressive as he. Brian was completely in synch with his Other, both riding on the ecstasy of the thrill: a thrill, for once, not in death, but in another carnal satisfaction. My own Passenger was clawing for the driver's wheel, but not so that a bloody confrontation could be made; my Passenger wanted to feast with the other, and I was too uneasy to let go of the wheel.

My third discomfort lied within myself. As _disgusting_ and _revolting_ I have often found lust to be, I felt unable to shy away from this particular prospect. Hell, I was even _enjoying_ it to a degree.

Hence, it should not come as a complete surprise that, when Brian reached down and grabbed my member, he was not grasping at an absolute lost cause. I mean, when there was someone _kissing_ and _licking_ and _rubbing_ against myself, it wasn't too radical that I actually felt a bit of pleasure from it.

But this reaction, as minimal as it was, seemed to fuel Brian frantically. He made a sound that was a mix between a growl and a hiss as his oral attentions returned roughly to my neck as he began to struggle with his own clothing. His arm that had been around my waist was pulled forth to hold down my struggling hands as he seethed at his uncooperative shirt. Buttons were finally either undone or torn away as Brian flung the article away and worked on his pants. His shoes and socks were already neatly placed at the door like the loyal Boy Scout he never was.

As Brian's pants followed after the shirt, I suddenly got a lovely jolt of "vive la Miami" resistance and pushed at Brian, succeeding in throwing him off a bit, only to have his hold return with more vigor. A quick _snap_ and his boxer-briefs went sailing in some direction.

Unfortunately, neither a heroic horse nor sudden fatigue overtook Brian before he plunged back into his lusted-for victim – oh wait; that was _me_.

His hand was now pumping my shaft, eliciting more lust in my reluctant self. Oral attentions returned once more to my mouth, which was, by now, half resisting and half returning the affection, its motives unknown even to myself. My hands were still struggling, mind you, but the growing heat was making everything quite difficult to focus on. I could see that Brian's own member was hardened. I had to admit that the – filthy – situation was – begrudgedly – becoming increasingly fulfilling. It was as if my Dark Passenger was satisfying itself with a new and delectable vegan course.

Brian then stopped rubbing my weeping erection and then, lowering his lower section the spread my legs, began to probe at my opening with his "then-pleasing, now-intruding" hand.

"Brian, stop!"

Coating his digits in someone's saliva and/or someone's precum (honestly, at this point, I could no longer tell whose), Brian worked one finger into my opening as he whispered hotly into my mouth, "No."

The invasion was immediately uncomfortable and I futilely squirmed away, but Brian was there to push forward, domineering me. There seemed to be no air of my own to breathe – I was quickly stealing gasps, now turning my head away into the crook of my arm. But there was Brian, too nestling into my arm, destroying any sense of false comfort. Comfort, that is, of that situation. I was still in the presence of tranquility of being united with my brother, despite his unwelcomed invasion.

Another digit was added, delving and squirming with the other, stretching and – I don't even want to _discuss_ how disgusting I _knew_ it to be, nor of how _good_ it had started to feel. Despite the occasional stinging sensation, Brian was apparently skilled in this field.

Remember how had earlier stated that I was envious of Brian? Now in more ways than one.

At some point – lust-filled hazes evidently distract me from minor details – Brian had let go of my then-limp hand and was slowly rubbing his own pelvis region on to mine, covering us with – unsanitary – fluids for the part that we should know comes next. **Good morning Dexter Morgan!** I suddenly remembered a few things: namely, I did not want to be raped by my brother, which was _quite_ close to fruition. I jerked my hips away from Brian's fingers and, to the surprise of his focused-self, I flipped our positions so that I was pinning Brian down with my hands on his shoulders, my expression panicked.

"_That's enough!_"

Beastly Brother Brian roared in anger and tried to throw off my hands, but I kept sturdy to "save my ass." Brian jerked left and right, but I was determined to keep him down until he was in a more reasonable mood, such as "not horny."

"Dexter, _let me go_!"

"And what if I do?"

"**What do you think?**"

As if to punctuate his non-subtle intentions, Brian exaggeratedly bucked his hips into the air –

-And came too close for comfort to my "X marks the spot."

Boisterous Brian suddenly grinned with his new determination, and Determined Dexter figured and feared the plan. Brian roughly grabbed my hips and began to pull them down towards his pelvis. I, anticipating the shark below, resisted, bracing on Brian's shoulders to resist the pull – damn you, Newton! But the Law of Gravity is a fickle one, and I soon felt my legs begin to tire and slide under the pressure, my own pelvis lowering towards his. Under pressure, David Bowie?

More specifically, my prepped opening was being pushed down towards a certain impaling fate.

It wasn't too long before I felt an unseen but not unknown force pushing against my opening, but I fought and strained to at least not be pulled down more. More pressure, more pressure, surely this wouldn't –

Brian, determined for his candy, bucked his hips up, thrusting into me.

Pleasure at this point? Ignoring my pulsing length – which is often difficult to do – and focusing on the current predicament, I would have to confess... no. No hot and bothersome pleasure there other than the idea of sexual infiltration – unsanitary stuff, by the way. Pain? Yes, there would be some of that: maybe a bit more than brothers ought to give to each other.

The sudden violation stunned me, causing my legs to give out, allowing Brian to push more so into me. I had fallen against him in my stunned state before frantically trying to escape again, but his arms embraced me as brothers do while his shaft invaded me as brothers don't. It shouldn't be happening; this _couldn't_ be happening! But the Passenger was merrily singing that it was, one hand on the wheel. If I didn't know better, I would have suspected an off version of "Pon Farr" at hand.

One part of me wanted to be light-years away from this situation, another did not want to be separated from my brother, and still another did not want to be separated from my _lover_. I was so confused on the situation, but also quite... yearning. And then the wheel slipped from my hands – either flung or fell away – and the Passenger threw himself into control.

It was around this time that Brian had rolled me back underneath him. His thrusting had quickened as his strained face looked into mine.

"Dexter," he hoarsely whispered, "don't leave. Be here."

"I am here and not going anywhere," was my reply.

I couldn't tell who or what was driving anymore. True; I felt more carnally inclined to the idea than previously, but I was unsure if the Dark Passenger was driving towards it. I wasn't even sure if there was any resemblance of a confine or control-center in my mind anymore. I was unsure and crashed my whole being into Brian's lips.

Such action was rewarded with a particularly deep thrust, and that thrust was the one that found that particular bundle of nerved to send me reeling in pleasure. My surprised moan was the signal to my brother to repeat the contact.

The peeping moon highlighted our perspiration and rocking figures. Half of my bed was cast in silver light while the remainder wallowed in inconstant darkness. At first, only the steady rustling of the bed had been audible, but now moans, grunts, and whispers where coloring the air. It filtered into my mind: this was not some sticky fumbling in the back of a Ford; this was not some random occurrence at Recovery Rita's home. This was sex that I found myself craving, biting Brian's lip and lifting to push into his thrusts and connect out skin. Two born of and in the same blood; union was inevitable, connection unstoppable.

I felt Brian's length hardened insurmountably in me, one hand clenching my buttocks and the other keeping my head pinned to his as he whimpered, "_I'm..._"

But at this moment, Brian's frantic thrusts had finally led to my own release; the building pressure in my groin finally left me in an explosion of ecstasy, spilling filthy and wonderfully-freed cum over our abdomens. I held back the groan as I had released, clenching onto Brian tighter. This seemed to push Brian over his own brink as well. As I felt his semen shoot inside me in one final thrust, the only noise then audible was between a moan and a snarl.

"_Dexter_...!"

Brian's body relaxed almost immediately, coaxing my body into its own languid state. Brian laid on top of me, both hands now lightly holding my face, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

But not lost to _me_.

Ay arms were limply wrapped around him in a post-coital embrace, our breaths mixing and slowing together. Darkly Dreaming Dexter did not need to go out and play that night. Although the moon was whimpering for blood as it always did, Dear Dexter was in the company of Brotherly Bound Brian, and not a voice in his head could coax him out.

Brian pulled out his length a bit later, but neither of us moved to separate further.

"Brian, will you stay?"

"Of course."

The damned and damnable of Miami could rest in peace on this Nouveau Nocturne; the Irish Twins of Blood were resting together as gods often did after being apart for too long...

Although, I would have _killed_ for another bought.


End file.
